This is fiction and to be enjoyed as such. This is part of the regular series – Team Up. I wrote up the English story while the Malayalam poem was written by another budding blogger. I also added the transliteration in Malayalam so that people can read it in its original language too.
Waiting For… A Miracle!
Today, 4th of July, Sunday
…its her show and I didn’t need a calendar entry to remember this. Its weird how she gets pissed off whenever I make an entry on the calendar. She feels that” if I intend to remember I would, else its not important…” and then there would be an argument and as usual she would win. So this time I gave it a shot….Any ways those red squiggles remind me of those red marks my English teacher made in my English term paper and a formal poke that I am BAD AT SPELLINGS. Spell Checker came to my rescue in a big way.
So what am I going to wear for today’s show.. something I am really bad at, deciding which colours match and which ones make me look like a retard. Should I go formal and maybe stick to some regular casuals. The world has some many intriguing questions and I am stuck with this one. Fine no more worries, the white one looks good and a matching black should be fine as well. It’s a combination which never goes wrong. Its not so formal and not so casual at the same time, a perfect pair made for people like me. So task one done. What else. Oh… what’s that!!
I see a beautiful envelope under my door. I pick it up and am curious to know what’s inside. But then the universe calls me back for another set of questions and I feel that the world needs me more than my innate desires to open this petty letter.
So what do I take for her, should I even take something, would it appear desperate. Oh Christ!! I need her to answer all these questions for me. Chuck It… it doesn’t matter. It never mattered for her. She liked me the way I am, as an idiot, a stubborn idiot but then it was 5 years ago. She would have completely forgotten about me now. Any ways no point of thinking about it.
So back to the letter.
So which one is this, I think to myself as I pick up the letter. It says press academy of Dubai in bold. Nicely golden bordered white envelope, it gives a royal feeling and I feeling I’m some sheikh who lost his parents in a jihad war and now somehow they have found me to be the rightful heir to the enormous wealth they left behind. But no, this is just another of those reminders to join their firm “Press Academy of United Aram emirates “and invitation to an assignment to Iran. They liked my pictures from the Egyptian Central Square situation and moreover my current job as photojournalist for “The Hindu” is just paying my debts. They are offering a big amount and I was in all mood to join them but then it would be for long and maybe it would end up as 5 year long assignment tossing around the gulf. I think I should decide it today for final, this is good for me and I should accept it.
What am I waiting for.. A miracle, may be.
Its right time I suppose to enter the auditorium. Its grand and my first time in such a fine place. The crowd is niche, the class of people you only see on TV or page 3. they are all here to see her.
Is that TV anchor Samuel, he was all over the news last week about some affair with an aspiring model and now he is here with his wife and they seem happy.
Industrialist Chandy is also here with his daughter, seems more interested in seeing the best possible options for his daughter, or let me say the best possible deal for him. He might get lucky, after all there are so smartly dressed spinsters here.
Oh is it Shravan, our TV reporter, good grace he is also here, might be of company. I walk towards him and try to get into a chit chat, trying to blend in this masked world. People who realize that their true identities are so horrible that the only way they could look into the mirror is with that shiny mask on. I shouldn’t blame them, they need to survive in this world.
Shravan is here for covering the event and chit chat with him helps me get comfortable with the ice cold crowd. I try to be like them, go to the bar and order a vodka shot, but then realize I can’t, I was in Shravan’s job for a year before I realized that I cant hide behind the crowd, these faces, these masked ones, the ones with malice, they hurt me. Its not just the words that come out of their horrendous faces but rather those awkward silences too which I cant stand. I believe in those faces, get hurt and then realize that the world is too smart or me so naïve that it happens, not just once, again and again.
I return back to find my seat, they have velvety ones here, a luxury couch. I feel the softness of the cloth, maybe their hearts would be as soft as these too.
The show begins, I am far less interested in the show than to meet her in the end. Its some modern interpretation of Ramayana, where Raavan gets to marry Sita. In today’s world Sita would end up marrying Raavan only, Ram might be too simple for a lady of today. We always tend to segregate people into characteristics and then pick the one that suits us best. Its not a matter of good or bad its just the fact that we should be able to absorb that character completely or not at all, either ways we would be satisfied by the classification.
Oh it ended…. The crowd liked it and its evident from the sudden increase in decibels in the auditorium. The stage is shut and people disperse towards the social dinner. I walk towards her, paving my way through the crowd.
“Congrats Cerin, it was nice”, I tremble to say. She looks at my empty hands and moves on to the next admirer. I wish to ask her about the old mark she got on her hand, when she fell off from the school tree, but that’s history is suppose.
I walk out of the crowd surrounding her, roaring her name. There’s a gloomy silence on my face and I can feel that even in this noisy crowd. They say it true, you can hear yourself better amidst those noises.
So the miracle never happened. I walk back home thinking if I could find a stationery shop to buy some new envelopes, the golden bordered white ones.
Thirichu pokan kazhiyatha oru yathrayilaanu njan…
Pathiye nishabdayayi nadannu njan
Kelkkam enikku chuttum aaravangal…
Mukham moodikal kondu maracha mukhangalude…
Kalanju kitti enikkumoru mukham moodi
Etho branthan valicherinjathavam..
Aniyaan kazhinjilla pakshe..
Enikkente mukham nashtappettirunnu..
Sheshikkunnathoru manasu mathram
Vakkukal kondum mounangal kondum
Ente athmavinte pratheekamaya manasu…
Pathi vazhi pinnittatheyullu engilum
yatra niruthukayanu njan
Ravinte irul moodum munpu ee pathayorathu
Njan ini urangatte…
Ente swapnangale pranayichu kondu…
a Google transliteration for those who prefer it in the original form
തിരിച്ചു പോകാൻ കഴിയാത്ത ഒരു യാത്രയിലാണ് ഞാൻ…
പതിയെ നിശബ്ദയായി നടന്നു ഞാൻ
കേൾക്കാം എനിക്ക് ചുറ്റും ആരവങ്ങള്…
മുഖം മൂടികൾകൊണ്ട് മറച്ച മുഖങ്ങളുടെ…
കളഞ്ഞു കിട്ടി എനിക്കുമോറു മുഖം മൂടി
ഏതോ ഭ്രാന്തൻ വലിച്ചെറിഞ്ഞത്ാവം..
അണിയാൻ കഴിഞ്ഞില്ല പക്ഷേ..
എനിക്കെന്റെ മുഖം നഷ്ടപ്പെട്ടിരുന്നു..
ശേഷിക്കുന്നത്ൊരു മനസ് മാത്രം
വാക്കുകൾ കൊണ്ടും മൌണങ്ങൾ കൊണ്ടും
എന്റെ ആത്മാവിന്റെ പ്രതീകമായ മനസ്…
പാതി വഴി പിന്നിട്ടതെയുള്ളുഎങ്കിലും
യാത്ര നിറുതതുകയാണ് ഞാൻ
രാവിന്റെ ഇരുൾ മൂടും മുൻപ് ഈ പാതയോരത്ത്
ഞാൻ ഇനി ഉറങ്ങട്ടെ …
എന്റെ സ്വപ്നങ്ങളെ പ്രണയിച്ച് കൊണ്ട്…